Raised from the Ground Read Online Free PDF Page A

mangled the words of the prayer book, and dispatched newborns, newlyweds and the dead with the same cold-blooded indifference with which he slaughtered and ate his pig and with equally scant attention to the letter or spirit of the holy writ. Ordinary people can be strangely sensitive. Domingos Mau-Tempo knew how to ensure that the church would be full. He let it be known that the next mass would be something special, that Father Agamedes had told him that in future he was going to take particular pains over the holy precepts, and would make use of sublime pauses and even vibrato, you’d be a fool to miss it, so don’t come complaining to me afterward if you do. Father Agamedes was amazed when he saw the church packed with people. It wasn’t the church’s name day and the drought had not been so bad as to require celestial intervention, but he said nothing. If the flock came to the pen of its own free will, so much the better for the shepherd when it came to rendering accounts to his master. In short, so as not to appear ungrateful, he outdid himself and, all unknowing, confirmed Domingos Mau-Tempo’s prediction. However, the shoemaker raised up to the position of sacristan, and already planning another escape, had his revenge prepared. When it came to the point in the mass where he had to ring the sanctus bell, he calmly raised the bell and shook it. It was as if he had waved a chicken feather in the air. At first, the faithful thought that they must all have gone deaf, others, out of habit, bowed their heads, while others watched distrustfully as Domingos Mau-Tempo, in dramatic silence, his face a mask of innocence, continued to shake the bell. The priest looked puzzled, the faithful muttered to each other, the younger members laughed. It was shameful, what with all the saints, not to mention all-seeing God, looking down on them. Father Agamedes could contain himself no longer, and he stopped the communion service there and then, grabbed the bell and felt inside it. There was no clapper. And yet no thunderbolt fell to punish such impiety. Terrible in his holy fury, Father Agamedes slapped Domingos Mau-Tempo hard about the face, right there in that sacred place, it scarcely seemed possible. But Domingos Mau-Tempo responded in kind, as though this were all part of the mass. And it was not long before the priest’s vestments and the sacristan’s surplice were caught up in a furious maelstrom, one on top, the other underneath, rolling sacrilegiously about, bruising their ribs on the altar steps, beneath the round-eyed gaze of the monstrance. The congregation rushed to separate the two warring powers, and some took advantage of that tangle of arms and legs to slake an ancient thirst for revenge on either one side or the other. The old ladies had gathered in one corner, praying to all the hosts of heaven, and, finally summoning up physical force and spiritual courage, advanced on the altar in order to save their priest, however unworthy. It was, in short, a triumph of faith.
    The next day, Domingos Mau-Tempo left the village, followed by a noisy cortege of boys, who accompanied him and his family as far as the barren outskirts. Sara da Conceição bowed her head in shame. João looked about him with his stern blue eyes. The other boy was sleeping.

 
     
     
     
     
    T HEN THE REPUBLIC arrived. The men earned twelve or thirteen vinténs, and the women, as usual, less than half. Both ate the same black bread, the same cabbage leaves, the same stalks. The republic rushed in from Lisbon, traveled from village to village by telegraph, if there was one, advertised itself in the press for those who knew how to read, or passed from mouth to mouth, which was always by far the easiest way. The king had been toppled, and according to the church, that particular kingdom was no longer of its world, the latifundio got the message and did nothing, and the price of a liter of olive oil rose to more than two thousand réis, ten times a